


Did We Build This Ship to Wreck

by donovanpsn



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Hurt, Ignis as a Mother Hen, It hurt me to write this, Lack of Communication, M/M, Panic Attacks, Slight Anorexic Behavior, assumed infidelity, not beta'd I will sink with my ship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 22:43:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11389944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donovanpsn/pseuds/donovanpsn
Summary: "When his brain finally catches up with his eyes and he registers what he’s seeing on Gladio’s  chest, well… Is this what all his targets feel like when he fires at them in the Citadel shooting range? Mapped out across Gladio’s bronzed skin like some kind of fucked up mess of art is a system of scratches and bruises that Prompto can’t remember leaving there. He feels as if he had been kicked right in the chest, and he only vaguely registers the muffled sound of Gladio’s sweater slipping from his fingers and falling to the ground at his feet.“G-Gladio?” He stammers and  Astrals , his voice sounds pathetic even to his own ears. He could already feel the uncomfortable rush of blood to his face and the all too familiar sting of tears in his eyes."





	Did We Build This Ship to Wreck

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back again with more trash I'm trying to pass off as decent writing. I hope you enjoy it because it physically pained me to make Prompto so sad.
> 
> The title is an altered version of a lyrics from "Ship to Wreck" by Florence + The Machine. The original goes "Did I build this ship to wreck?"
> 
> Disclaimer: There is a panic attack that takes place in the story and there is minor anorexic behavior showcased in one of the characters. It's really not very heavy but I would rather warn you than trigger someone with my writing. 
> 
> This story isn't beta read and I'm a slacker low-life so all mistakes are mine and mine alone. I apologize for them in advance.

Prompto and Gladio have a… thing. They’ve been together for just shy of a year now (358 days, 7 hours, and 17 minutes - but it’s not like Prompto is counting!), and things have been going  _ great _ for them. Prompto is almost always on cloud nine and there’s never a day that goes by during which Gladio doesn’t pause his mental train of thought to wax romantic about the “beautiful blond he can call his own”. Turns out all the trashy harlequin he consumes does wonders for both his vocabulary and their romance. Returning to the point, however… they have a thing (though those more eloquent than Prompto would refer to it as more a “routine” than a “thing”). Since Gladio has to spend such long hours shadowing Noctis to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid or get himself injured and Prompto’s photography is finally taking off, they don’t get to spend much time together. A few hours a week, maybe, and a few more while Prompto is hanging out with Noctis while Gladio hovers nearby (he’d join them if his dad hadn’t recently been on his ass about taking his job as the equivalent to a royal bodyguard more seriously), but it’s not nearly as much time as they’d like. Because of this, the two of them have fallen into the routine of spending their mornings together as often as possible. Prompto pushed his morning runs a little bit earlier so that he can get it done, pick up some breakfast, and spend a few hours with Gladio in the mornings who, in turn, pushes his days back just a little bit so that he has enough time to have a nice breakfast with his boyfriend (Thankfully, both his father and King Regis understand how difficult it is to balance a healthy relationship with duty to the country and granted him a  _ slightly  _ later start to his mornings). There are still a handful of days during which one or both of them are just too busy with their own lives to make breakfast, but they always try to make up for it whenever they can. This morning, Prompto had woken up extra early and made the decision to squeeze a little more boyfriend time into his day. He had just finished up a big project to be hung up in a local gallery (A  _ gallery _ ! Can you believe it!?) and he knows Gladio was out late chaperoning Noctis because the prince had decided that he wanted to spend a few hours unwinding in one of Insomnia’s famed nightclubs after a particularly grueling line of council meetings he had been forced to sit through, so the brute would probably be all tuckered out. On top of that - if he’s remembering Gladio’s schedule right - his boyfriend’s monthly day off is today. What kind of boyfriend would Prompto be if he didn’t rise to the occasion?

Naturally, the blond had gone out of his way to make this morning’s breakfast a little better for his boyfriend. He slightly altered the route he takes on his run so that he could swing by the little bakery he and Gladio  _ adore  _ to pick up some of his boyfriend’s favorite breakfast rolls and donuts (he made extra sure to buy the donuts with glaze that isn’t flaking or crusting yet because Gladio is entirely too picky with what he puts in his mouth) and the café a couple blocks down from the apartment complex all three of his friends live in to snag them some coffee (piping hot and black with a ridiculous amount of sugar for Gladio and a tooth-rotting caramel frappé for him). It extended his usual run from two miles to nearly three, but he didn’t mind going the  _ extra mile _ to make his boyfriend smile (yeah, he knows how stupid that joke is). So, even though he had dragged himself out of bed a half hour earlier than usual, he ended up arriving at Gladio’s doorstep at the same time he does every morning. Thankfully, the guy at the front desk has learned his face by now and has started letting him up without a fight, so he didn’t have to cut any time from their routine breakfast date.

He didn’t bother knocking before letting himself in with the key Gladio had gifted to him a few months ago. Since he started coming over pretty much every morning, Gladio told him to drop the “unnecessary mannerisms” like knocking or waiting to be invited in and to just come inside whenever he gets here. Because of this, Prompto didn’t think twice about breezing into the kitchen to set everything down and spread it out on the table for easy pickings when they settle in to eat. He could hear the shower running through Gladio’s bedroom door, so he figured that he may as well make himself useful and spend his waiting time rummaging through his boyfriend’s closet in search of a fresh change of clothes (whether they’ll end up being his own or Gladio’s, he can’t say). When he pushes open Gladio’s bedroom door and makes a direct beeline for the closet built into the far wall and starts digging around for something decent he could wear without having to worry about tripping over all the extra fabric (he’s long since ruled out all of Gladio’s pants because they’re ridiculously long), he doesn’t bother looking up. Gladio’s still in the bathroom anyways, so there wasn’t really any reason for him to bother. He’s never been very good at taking in his surroundings.

He had just managed to piece together an outfit consisting of a pair of skinny jeans in his size and one of Gladio’s smaller sweaters that he likes to wear whenever he can sneak them away from his behemoth of a boyfriend when he hears the bathroom door creak open. He spins around almost immediately, dazzling grin firmly in place as he holds the clothes up to his chest. “Morning, babe. I’m gonna borrow this sweater, okay?” He says and really, it’s not much of a question, even with the little lilt at the end. They both know Gladio would never say no to him. However, when his brain finally catches up with his eyes and he registers what he’s seeing on Gladio’s  _ chest _ , well… Is this what all his targets feel like when he fires at them in the Citadel shooting range? Mapped out across Gladio’s bronzed skin like some kind of fucked up mess of art is a system of scratches and bruises that Prompto can’t remember leaving there. He feels as if he had been kicked right in the chest, and he only vaguely registers the muffled sound of Gladio’s sweater slipping from his fingers and falling to the ground at his feet.

“G-Gladio?” He stammers and _  Astrals _ , his voice sounds pathetic even to his own ears. He could already feel the uncomfortable rush of blood to his face and the all too familiar sting of tears in his eyes. Unfortunately, what he had been feeling in that moment was nothing compared to the pain that lit him up from the inside out when he heard a muffled groan of his boyfriend’s name, looked over to the bed, and saw a very sleepy, very  _ shirtless  _ Noctis nestled into Gladio’s rumpled bedsheets. His brain was racing at a mile per minute as everything he was seeing rushed in and assaulted him at once, and it seemed Gladio had pieced together what Prompto must be thinking.

Prompto cut Gladio off before he could get a word in. “How  _ could you _ ? And with my… my  _ best friend _ , of all the people in all of fucking Lucis!?” He cried, furiously swiping at the tears that streaked down his blotchy, red cheeks. “You said you were just gonna  _ watch over him _ , Gladio. Is  _ this _ what you call  _ watching over him _ !?” His voice was loud and oppressive but so, so heartbreakingly weak. He stumbled back as Gladio advanced on him and blocked out all of the other man’s pleas. He could  _ not  _ be near him, right now. He could feel the room spinning around him and distantly, he felt his chest rising and falling at a pace that was far too erratic for it to be considered normal in any sense of the word, but he doesn’t give a single  _ fuck  _ right now because he just… His boyfriend and his best friend. What kind of fucked up story is this?  _ Astrals _ , he always felt that he wasn’t good enough for either of them because of his heritage and commoner status but… he had  _ trusted  _ them. Of all the ways he imagined they would eventually cut him out of their lives, he had never even  _ considered  _ this. He doesn’t know what the hell to do with himself but he does know that all his yelling is waking Noctis up and he could  _ not  _ deal with  _ both  _ of them, right now. He shoved Gladio as hard as he could when the man got too close to him and felt a little spike of satisfaction shoot through him when he saw that the hulking behemoth actually stumbled back a few inches. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for him to dart out from where he had been pinned against the wall like some terrified butterfly. He rushed out of the bedroom as quickly as he could and collected his cell phone, wallet, and keys from Gladio’s dining table with trembling hands. He struggled to block out Gladio’s yelling and pleading for him to stop and put his running expertise to good use to stay out of the man’s reach. He knows that if he lets Gladio touch him he won’t be able to help allowing the world to melt away around him, and that is decidedly not what he needs right now. What he  _ needs  _ is to get the fuck out of here because he can hear Noct calling for him now too and even though the prince’s voice is remarkably less confused and desperate than Gladio’s, it’s still enough to send bile crawling up his throat. He felt like a million imps were clawing through him and every step away from Gladio made him feel heavier than an iron giant but the world was spinning and the walls were closing in and he just had to  _ get out _ .

He didn’t realize how far he had run until he found himself collapsing against his own apartment door.

  


* * *

 

Prompto isn’t sure how long he’s been holed up in his dingy little apartment. He hadn’t left his room for quite some time, now. He hadn’t needed to because, thankfully, he’s a lazy millennial and his room is fit to provide ample shelter for weeks on end. His lazy  _ ex _ -best friend had convinced him to buy a cheap mini-fridge to keep by his bed for long gaming marathons after he got one of his first heftier paychecks from a big project a few months back (it had been packed with enough food and water to last him these past however many days), he has a bathroom connected to his room (thank God he lived alone and didn’t have to fight anyone to get the master bedroom), and he had dumped his phone somewhere outside of his room so he could ignore the incessant ringing that had started up the minute he got home from Gladiolus’. On top of that, the clock that had been plugged in next to his tv a few weeks ago had died on him and he had never gotten the chance to buy a new one. He’s effectively been living in the dark for however long he’s been in here. Sadly, his mini-fridge wasn’t built to sustain him forever and after a while, he ran out of food. He tried to survive off of just bottles of water for a while (Maybe… Maybe Gladio had gone for Noct because he’s thinner than Prompto?), but those eventually ran out, too. He had tried to survive just a  _ little while  _ longer without either because he had cried  _ way  _ too much these past few days and he’s not sure his legs really work, anymore. His muscle has probably liquidated by now. 

He finally manages to drag himself from his bed again when his stomach’s grumbling becomes too unbearable for him to handle. He stumbled quite a bit on his way to the bathroom (he’s only gone a handful of times since his self-inflicted seclusion began) and tried his damnedest to avoid looking at his reflection in the mirror. He hasn’t seen himself since he locked himself away. He made quick work of showering and brushing his teeth for the first time in what feels like forever because really, he feels  _ disgusting _ by now. Only when he was finished with his usual routine (Excluding fixing his hair and swiping on his eyeliner because, well… Who does he have to impress, now?) did he risk a glance in the mirror. He physically cringed at his own reflection. His hair wasn’t as tangled or messy as he had thought it would be and his skin wasn’t as pasty or oily thanks to his shower, but there were big, dark bruises under his eyes and he had noticeably already lost some weight around his eyes and cheekbones due to his short period of minor starvation. Honestly, he looked like Death after a shower, which is right on par with how he feels. Whoop-dee-fucking-doo.

After wasting a few minutes critiquing every aspect of his reflection and trying to ignore his grumbling tummy, he caved and decided he would just have to risk venturing out into the rest of his apartment to scavenge for more food. He winced when he saw his phone lying face-down on the coffee table in his small living room. God only knows how many notifications he has waiting for him. He debated just ignoring it, but finally decided that he may as well just get it over with. With that thought in mind, he took a deep breath and flipped it over in his hands. He was so distracted by what he saw on the screen that he didn’t take the time to wonder why it was plugged in and set on the table when he  _ distinctly  _ remembers just tossing it aside onto the couch. 25 missed calls and 40 texts from Ignis, 18 texts from Iris, 79 missed calls and 94 texts from Noctis, and… 158 missed calls and 214 texts from Gladiolus. Almost as if it knew it was being held, his phone began to buzz in his hands, the screen lit up with one of his favorite pictures of him and Gladiolus from when they had first started dating. Prompto was hanging off of Gladiolus’ back like a koala with his chin resting on the man’s shoulder. They had matching grins plastered all over their faces, but their foreheads were turned toward one another so they were focusing more on each other than the camera. Noctis had taken that picture for them a month after they officially started dating. The memory alone was enough to bring fresh tears to his eyes and he stared down at the picture until Gladiolus ended the call and the screen faded to black. Astrals, life sucks. 

With a heavy sigh, Prompto put his phone back where it was - again, he didn’t take the time to question why the phone was in a different spot from where he left it - and made his way into his connected kitchenette. He nearly screamed.

“Ah, you’ve decided to rejoin the world of the living. Finally. I was beginning to worry you had died in your bedroom and I’d have to invade your privacy to collect your remains. It had certainly  _ smelled  _ like something was rotting away in there.” Ignis sniffed, offering no greeting aside from the slight twitch of his nose to emphasize how unpleasant Prompto’s room had smelled whilst the blond in question soaked and saturated in his sweat and body odor for days on end. “I’ve one more cuppa Ebony waiting in the pot if you want it.” Ignis offered, barely even blinking in Prompto’s direction as he filled the small kitchenette with the soft tinkling of his silver spoon tapping against the edges of the cup of coffee in his hands. He had the morning newspaper spread out on the table in front of him - it was opened up to the political section, which makes absolutely no sense considering the fact that Ignis works immediately under the prince and has direct knowledge of all political matters as they develop. But that’s beside the point. How the  _ hell  _ did Ignis get in here? A cursory glance towards his front door showed that the Swiffer mop he had jammed under the doorknob (His door’s latch was already broken when he moved in, okay? He didn’t do it. Really.) to keep all three of his friends from getting in with their keys was leaning against the broom closet door. 

“How did you get in here? I put that thing there specifically to keep you guys out.” Prompto sighed, accepting his defeat by moving towards his coffee maker and pouring the leftovers into his own mug. He mixed in an inappropriate serving of sugar but opted out of creamer because he had run out of his fat-free bottle and took it to the small round table. He chose the seat across from Ignis and sat down with a huff, nursing his mug against his chest but not actually drinking from it.  

“Really, Prompto. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that your Swiffer was only braced against the door frame of your coat closet. All I had to do was reach through the gap and push at it until it fell. You’re just lucky the men you are trying to avoid are borderline sadly incompetent and can’t usually put two and two together on a  _ good  _ day.” He explained, raising his mug to his lips and taking a long sip. “You should fix your latch if you’re so inclined to keep people out.”

Prompto sighed (again) and let his head thump against his table top. He really should have known Ignis would find a way in. Wiggling his way through situations like this is literally his job (Well, sometimes. Mostly when Noctis gets himself in trouble and needs Ignis to bail him out). “Fine. What do you want from me?” He groaned, mourning the loss of any chance he had of being alone for a few more weeks. He should’ve assumed  _ someone  _ would try to come after him, eventually. 

“To talk.” Ignis stated plainly, gingerly placing his mug down on the table in front of him so that he could cross his legs and recline in the undoubtedly uncomfortable, cheap wooden chair. “It’s been 18 days, Prompto. That’s more than two weeks. When were you planning to come out of your house? Your refrigerator is nearly empty and you are alarmingly lacking in toiletries and other necessities. You only had one remaining pack of Ebony, for Shiva’s sake. This is no way to live, Prompto.” He chastised, taking his usual route and listing all his critiques so that Prompto could work towards improving them. “And when is the last time you rested? The bruises under your eyes are frightening and don’t think I can’t tell you’ve only showered this morning. I’ve been here every morning for the past week and I haven’t heard your shower run once. You must take better care of yourself.”

Prompto was curling further and further into himself as Ignis’ list went on. Truly, he’s grateful that the elder man cares enough to check on him - every morning, no less - and is only picking on Prompto out of genuine concern, but he can be such a mother hen, sometimes. Prompto’s own mother hadn’t even doted on him so obsessively. It was equal parts pleasant and annoying and yeah, he gets why Noctis likes to complain sometimes, now. “Iggy, please. I’m… I’m okay.” He insisted weakly, though his voice lacked proper conviction. Naturally, Ignis latched onto that immediately. 

“No, you aren’t. Honestly Prompto, I worry for you. I know that this is a difficult time for you, but you have to take care of yourself. It’s unfair to you if you don’t. You deserve better.” Ignis argued resolutely, refusing to accept Prompto’s feeble attempts at defending himself because they are both well aware that the blond hadn’t been taking proper care of himself. He likely would’ve run himself ragged or made himself sick if he had holed out in his room for much longer and Ignis was only looking out for him. However, that doesn’t mean that Prompto can’t sulk.

“Iggy, I promise I’ll start showering every day again, okay? I’ll even go… I’ll go grocery shopping if you want.” He conceded, lifting his head and scrubbing over his face with both hands. Truthfully, he wasn’t entirely willing to leave the safety of his apartment just yet, but he knows Ignis would never let the matter drop if Prompto doesn’t make an immediate change for his own good and he really isn’t feeling up to fighting, right now. “I promise, okay? It’s just… It’s been hard. It’s not every day you walk in on your best friend in your boyfriend’s bed.” He mumbled into his hands, already feeling the telltale sting of tears in his eyes as he mulled over what had happened that day in Gladio’s bedroom. He missed the way Ignis’ lips pinched together and turned downward at the ends. 

Steeling himself for what he knows is to come, Ignis decided to open his damn mouth in the name of his prince. “Prompto, have you even talked to them or stopped to hear what the have to-”

“What is there to say, Ignis? Tell me what they could possibly say to change what I saw with my own two eyes.” Prompto interrupted, his voice so chilling it would make Shiva proud. “Tell me, Ignis, how they can possibly explain away the fact that Noctis was shirtless in my ex-boyfriend’s bed and Gladiolus was covered in love bites and thumbprints and scratches that look a hell of a lot like the kind  _I_ leave on him. Don’t tell me you come here every morning but you’re on _their side_.” He hissed, his eyes narrowed and his words coming out as thinly veiled threats. He doesn’t want to fight with one of his few remaining friends, but he will _not_ tolerate this in his own home. He knows what he saw and no lies or excuses from either of the men in question can make things better.  

Ignis bristled at Prompto’s aggression but dared not rise to it. This is his friend and he’s hurting. If he wishes to lash out, Ignis can take it and let it go. He won’t hold it against someone who is so obviously hurting. “Prompto, I’m not picking sides. I’m simply -”

“Get out.” Prompto snapped, his lips pursed as he crossed his arms and glared across the table at Ignis, who was obviously caught off-guard. “Get out of my apartment. I don’t want to hear this, right now. Not ever. Tell them both that I don’t want to see them or hear from either of them. It’s over.” He rose from his seat and collected both Ignis’ empty mug and his own full cup (he definitely didn’t dump out a whole mug of coffee just to spite his friend) and silently set to work on scrubbing them clean with his back to the man still seated on the table. He remained rigid, even as he heard the telltale noises of someone getting up and getting ready to leave. He refused to flinch when he felt Ignis’ hand on his shoulder.

“Alright, I’ll go. I am truly sorry for agitating you. It wasn’t right for me to try to persuade you with my words before you’re ready. Move at your own pace, Prompto, and know that I’ll always be here if you need me. I’m your friend just as much as I am theirs, regardless of what you may think right now.” He offered, letting his hand linger on Prompto’s shoulder blade for a moment longer before retracting it and making his way towards the front door. Once he reached it, however, he paused and cast a meaningful look over his shoulder at the blond whose back was still turned on him. “Gladio sleeps on the floor in the hall in front of your door every night. He hasn’t missed one since the first and I doubt he will until you talk to him. If you truly wish to abstain from seeing him for now, don’t take this entrance after he gets off of work because he comes here immediately after leaving the Citadel. He and Noct both refuse to come in without your permission so you won’t have to worry about that, but be careful if you wish to avoid a premature encounter.” 

The soft sound of his front door clicking shut punctuated the warning and Prompto let out a breath he didn’t even realize he had been holding. “Camping out, huh? Well, he always was such a romantic.” He chuckled bitterly, absently reaching up to wipe away a few stray tears that had streaked down his cheeks. “I guess I’ll be leaving through the fire escape for a while.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. What did you guys think? There is still one more chapter to be written, but I really wanted to get this out there. I'm still getting back into creative writing after spending a year doing research papers and synthesis essays and blah blah blah so I'm sorry if it's not up to par, but I promise I'm working on it!
> 
> 2\. You can find me on Tumblr @ffxvfandomtrash. That's where I'll be linking my works and talking about my progress, if you're interested in that!
> 
> 3\. As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!
> 
> PS: In case it wasn't made clear in the fic, Iggy is the one that's been charging Prom's phone for him because he knows that Prom is one of us youngins and checking his phone is one of the first things he will do after an extended hibernation


End file.
